


"can i hold your hand?"

by littlebirdrocks



Series: not quite 100 Ways To Say 'I love you' Series [3]
Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, horror movies, obviously used solely so that they'll hold hands, written to be romantic but it's vague enough that you can read it as platonic if you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-13 14:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21495883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebirdrocks/pseuds/littlebirdrocks
Summary: George Mukherjee isn't afraid of horror films. He isn't. He's stared down murderers and criminals without flinching, he's hardly scared of a jumpscare and a bit of special effects.The hand-holding is purely for Alexander's benefit.
Relationships: Alexander Arcady/George Mukherjee
Series: not quite 100 Ways To Say 'I love you' Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537480
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	"can i hold your hand?"

**Author's Note:**

> listen, it hasn't gotten light yet and therefore i'm on time with this prompt
> 
> disclaimer: i have no idea what film theyre watching, i've only ever watched insidious 1&2 - it isn't either of those, if that helps

The music keeps building, growing from a quiet hum to a very _deliberately _drawn out note. Personally, I think I’m doing a very good job of holding it together. I may be coiled tighter than a spring about to break, but I have yet to physically jump at any of the film’s ‘Scary Moments’.

This particular Scary Moment, however, is testing me. There’s only so much musical build-up I can take, and frankly if they don’t release the tension with the anticipated jump scare very soon I might lose it. The longer they draw out this one note, the more I want to laugh – whether from hysteria or genuine amusement at the exaggerated scene I really couldn’t say.

And after another five seconds of that _same goddamn note_, I break. I start to laugh, sounding slightly hysterical, and George gives me an incredulous look.

“I’m sorry,” I giggle, “They’re just building it up so much it’s ridiculous, are they ever going to – _Jesus fucking Christ_, what the _hell_ is that.”

Apparently, they were planning to release the tension in the form of a particularly creepy-looking demon appearing. To their credit, I was so distracted by the music that it took me entirely by surprise, and I have to take several deep breaths to get my hammering heart under control.

George is no longer looking at me. He’s staring intently at the screen instead, and I’m about to tease him for being fascinated where any sane person would be terrified when I notice exactly how stock-still he is. He did not jump when I shrieked, but I think that may have been a very deliberate move. Perhaps I am not the only one here who is afraid.

I can’t allow him to simply suffer in silence, but there’s no way George would admit to being scared by a film without at least some heavy prompting. I shall have to be more covert.

“George,” I say in my very-best _‘this film is very scary for a soft soul such as myself’_ voice (which, if I’m honest, takes very little effort right now. My heart has yet to return to a resting rate.) **“Can I hold your hand?”**

He turns his gaze back to me, and I give him my best – subtle - puppy dog eyes.

“That jumpscare was honestly terrifying,” I point out, “and hand-holding is always a good solution to fear!”

He hesitates for a moment, and I fear I have been too obvious. And then George rolls his eyes, but he shuffles closer and offers one hand to me. I entwine our fingers, beaming, and scoot even closer until our arms touch.

I turn my attention back to the screen, where the female protagonist is now running from the demon in a pair of heels that I am absolutely sure would prompt Daisy to throw popcorn at the screen.

I give it a good ten minutes before I progress with my plan, waiting until George’s hand has relaxed marginally in mine. And then, ever so gently, I run my thumb across his knuckles. I can feel his shoulder tense against mine, but when I repeat the action he seems to relax into the touch. I take this as a good sign and keep going, running my thumb softly back and forth, and with every motion some of the tension drains from George’s shoulders.

Until very suddenly, he sits upright and his hand goes rigid in mine.

“Wait a fucking second,” he says accusingly. I immediately arrange my features into the most innocent expression I can conjure. “Was this ever about your own comfort?”

Whoops.

“Yes!” I protest, because it _was_. It was just … also about George’s comfort. “I just never … actually specified _who _hand-holding would be a good solution for.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

“You sneaky prick.”

My face is still a picture of innocence, and I don’t mention that he’s still holding my hand.

“In my defence, you were genuinely afraid of that last jumpscare,” I reason. “But I didn’t think you’d want to admit to it, so I had to get creative.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Was I right?”

Slowly, almost like he’s afraid I’ll pull away (as if I would _ever_), George relaxes again. And then, much to my surprise, he shuffles down in his seat until his head is resting hesitantly on my shoulder. Dark hair brushes my cheek, and I squash down a grin.

“Shut up, Hastings,” he mutters.

He doesn’t pull his hand away.


End file.
